


Thrice Married, Twice Widowed, Always Alone

by icedragon822



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 05:30:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4335713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedragon822/pseuds/icedragon822
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shot focusing on Margaery's thoughts of her three marriages and her three husbands. </p><p>The characters belong to the one and only George RR Martin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thrice Married, Twice Widowed, Always Alone

From the time she was a young girl, Margaery Tyrell knew that for highborn girls such as herself, the passionate love found in songs and stories was as unlikely to happen to her as she was to flying on a dragon. Margaery knew that she was to be given to some high lord, most like to secure an alliance for her father. It would be a marriage rooted in politics, not in love. She knew that those unromantic origins may not lead to the unadulterated passions of the Prince of Dragonflies and his Jenny of Oldstones, or of Florian and Jonquil, but that it could lead to a caring and compassionate union. She saw this in her parents' marriage. Mace Tyrell and Alerie Hightower lacked passion in their relationship, but there was SOMETHING there, perhaps a kind of dutiful love. They had made four children together, and her father still pecked her mother on the cheek when they broke their fast each morning, an action that never failed to bring a smile to Lady Alerie's face.

Therefore, when Margaery married the newly-declared King Renly Baratheon in a lavish ceremony in Highgarden, she did not expect to love him immediately. However, she never expected to feel so... alone. After the bedding ceremony, as she lay in bed naked and terrified of what was to come, Renly simply kissed her forehead and told her that he was too drunk, that he knew that he would not be able to couple with her tonight. She was relieved, and was content to simply lay beside him and fall asleep. But as the next few days turned into weeks, nothing happened- not one thing. Renly was all smiles during the day, hugging her tight and kissing her eyelids, her nose, her hand, her cheek whenever his courtiers were around. But in the bedchamber, he could not have been more distant. Margaery even tried, to her mortification, to seduce him by slowly stripping off her dress, shift and smallclothes and placing his hand on her breast to squeeze it. Renly palmed her small, shapely breasts with both hands and even began to kiss her, first along her neck and then on her mouth, where he sucked on her bottom lip and then filled her mouth with his tongue. She had never kissed before, not like this, but copied his movements as best she could, massaging his tongue with hers, sucking on his bottom lip, moving her hands through his hair. She even dared to move her hand to the front of his breeches, where she found his member hard and ready. She unlaced his breeches and touched him, finding his member to be softer, smoother, more fragile than she expected. She stroked it a few times, making him groan. 

"Shall we move to the bed, my king?" Margaery asked, trying to hide the fear in her voice with what she wanted to be sultry seduction.

When she looked up, she saw that her husband was crying, tears streaming down his face, and his member had gone soft in her hand.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. I can't. I can't. I'm so, so sorry," he said in a choking voice.

"It's fine, my love, truly. Perhaps we can try again later?" Margaery said, fighting back tears of her own. Somehow, she had begun to understand- the long hours spent alone with her brother Loras, the looks the two exchanged... It was not her that Renly loved, and it never would be.

She slept with him that night, but not in the way that husbands and wives do. He cried himself to sleep, his head nestled against her naked breast, as she stroked his hair, kissed his head, and whispered words of comfort to him. Perhaps someday, with help from Loras (she shuddered at the thought) they could consummate, and make a baby, an heir to the throne. But for then, it was enough just to lay together, to cry together, to sleep together.

The consummation never came. Renly was dead a week later, killed by Brienne of Tarth or Lady Catelyn Stark or Stannis Baratheon, his own brother (no one could agree on who truly committed the crime). Before she knew it, Margaery was in King's Landing and betrothed to yet another king, this time the boy king, Joffrey Baratheon.

Joffrey was thirteen and as comely as any young man Margaery had ever seen, with silky golden locks and shining green eyes. He had once been betrayed to Sansa Stark, the traitor Eddard Stark's daughter, but if rumors were to be believed he was more fond of having his Kingsguard beat her than to spend time getting to know his betrothed. Margaery dreaded wedding him, and bedding him, and bearing his children, but it must be done. Her father had sold her as if she were little more than a sheep. 

It was a blessing, therefore, that on his wedding knight Joffrey was poisoned, some say by his own uncle and former betrothed, Sansa Stark. He never had the pleasure of taking Margaery's maidenhead, and for that she was truly grateful. She had to pretend to mourn his loss, and even made herself cry for his sake, but she truly didn't mourn him, and never felt the love that truly wasn't there.

Margaery was horrified when her father made her wed the new king, Tommen, a boy of eight. There would be no bedding, not until he had seen fourteen name days. She would be 21, with her prime childbearing years fewer and fewer ahead of her. Their wedding was small and far from lavish, and she was mortified when her father insisted that she sleep beside the child that night. He was a sweet boy, and may grow into a good man. He would be a better husband, a better father, than his brother ever would have. But as she lay beside him, watching as he dreamed of kittens and king hood, she found herself weeping softly. She was thrice married, twice widowed, and still terribly, horribly, very, very alone. It would be a long night- it would be a long life.


End file.
